Shareen, Shareen
by twentyfirstcenturyshopgirl
Summary: Shareen Evans, left behind while her best friend, Rose Tyler, goes 'travelling' is confronted by a strange man in a pinstriped suit six months after the Battle of Canary Wharf. This is her story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Although I've written fiction before, this is my first real attempt at Doctor Who fandom. Short stories, yeah, they're fine, but longer stories seem to fizzle out when I'm writing them. Hopefully that won't happen with me. Just to be safe, I'm saying this has **spoilers for Series 1/2**, and we're ignoring Series 3 for the time being (just because I don't like Martha!). My **disclaimer** is that, though I'd love to (and so would many other fans), I don't own anything to do with Doctor Who, Torchwood, The Sarah-Jane Adventures or anything like that. And though Shareen has been mentioned in programmes, she is based solely on my own ideas, as is Doctor #11. Reviews are welcomed, as is genuine constructive criticism, but don't try and disguise flaming under the heading of constructive criticism. Thanks!

It was New Year's Eve, 2006, and everybody who was anybody in South-East London was piled into Bev Lawson's flat.

It wasn't a particularly stylish party, but it was the best anyone could've asked for, considering the circumstances. And Bev always made sure her parties were memorable, even though there weren't fancy canapés and the decorations weren't the best.

There were reminders of Christmas still strewn around the flat; the small, fibre-optic Christmas tree was poked into the corner of the living room, and there was still a distinct smell of turkey and brandy about the place. Red and gold banners exclaiming "Happy Christmas!" had been covered over by silver and blue "Happy New Year" ones, and there were twenty or so half-empty, discarded champagne glasses on the already-cluttered coffee table. A few of the old magazines perched on the edge of the sofa slipped off, into the mass of party-popper residue and a pile of wrapping paper, and there was a fight ensuing outside the bathroom door, but it was a good party.

A proper Cockney knees-up.

So why did Shareen Evans feel so down?

Since she'd arrived at the party, she'd been downing glasses of whatever alcoholic substance she could get her hands on so that she could slip back to a time when Rose and Jackie Tyler would've been here, enjoying the festivities, with everyone else. Even a year ago, they'd been here, living it up while Rose was back from "travelling" (though Shareen knew what was really going on) and it had been a lighter atmosphere all round. Things had happened during 2006 that people would rather forget, people had died. Those left behind were just thankful to see the end of a generally bad year, and move on to brighter things in 2007.

But not Shareen.

She wanted her best friend back. She wanted to be able to pop in to Rose's flat for a cup of tea at any time, and talk about "that cute lad that works at the Red Lion", but she couldn't. Not any more. Rose Tyler, aged 19, had died in the July Invasion, as it had come to be called, and Shareen Evans, aged 20, was left behind.

However, this was a _party_, and though she really wasn't in the party spirit, Shareen had promised Trisha Delaney (with a very gorgeous brother) and Lindsay Montgomery (who Shareen worked with at _Giorgio's_ restaurant) that she'd come with them and have a good time. She was, apparently, spending "too much time thinking about the past" and needed to move on. Quite how Bev Lawson's New Year's Party would accomplish this, Shareen didn't know, but she downed another vodka and orange anyway.

And by the time midnight had passed, the fireworks had stopped and Bev had re-programmed the television to a music channel, where "Tainted Love" by Soft Cell was playing after a Spice Girls track, but before some recent number one that nobody could remember the name of, Shareen Evans was, quite honestly, drunk. It was her brother, Steve, that decided they should really go home to sleep off the effects of the alcohol, and so the five of them (including Trisha's brother, Rob) stumbled into the lift, rather than risking the stairs.

Outside, Shareen's skin prickled with the cold and the wind whipped her red hair into a frenzy around her face, but she still managed to find her way back to the apartment building on her own two feet, unlike Lindsay and Trisha, who were holding each other for support, but actually dragging each other closer to the hard concrete of the pavement. At the glass front door of her building, she scrabbled for her key in the ridiculously small handbag she carried. Finding it, she turned to Rob and the rest of the motley crew, and leant against the glass gently.

"Well, this is my stop, guys. Don't call me in the morning."

Drunken hugs all round ensued, and after disentangling her hair from the buttons of Rob's shirt, Shareen waved lightly and turned.

"Oi, don't I get my goodnight kiss, Shareen Evans?"

Shareen rolled her eyes and shook her head as she unlocked the door.

"Nope. 'Cause I didn't get a 'Happy New Year' kiss. Fair's fair, Robert Delaney."

She winked, and Rob slapped her backside playfully, before Shareen opened the door, blew him a kiss and hobbled up the stairs. None of the lights were turned on in the ground-floor apartments, but as you ascended, more and more were. By the time you got to the third floor, where Shareen's flat - which was previously Rose and Jackie's - was, there was music thumping through the walls of number 45 and you could see the lights beneath the doorway. Nobody intended to go to bed too early, tonight, though Shareen could've quite happily collapsed in a heap on her bed, in her room-that-wasn't-hers.

Except when she opened the door, locked it again from the other side and took her shoes off, traipsing quietly into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, she glanced through the serving hatch and saw a familiar blue box in the centre of her living room. The china sugar bowl dropped from her hands as she practically flew from the kitchen, into the lounge.

"Rose? Rose?!"

A little light of hope flickered inside Shareen as she knocked urgently on the doors of the TARDIS. What if the Doctor had taken Rose away, six months ago? What if he'd taken Rose, and Jackie, and Mickey away in his box to escape trouble, and then brought them back? Shareen didn't know if that was possible, but anything was better than having to live with the fact that her best friend was dead. She hammered on the wooden doors with aching fists, slipping down onto her knees feebly as she let the tears fall.

"Rose, I couldn't believe that you were dead. You're too strong for that. I just knew you'd come back."

Shareen sniffed, and wiped running mascara from her cheeks, resting her forehead gently against the TARDIS. She rubbed her bare arms gently with sore hands, listening to the silence of the flat for…well, anything that would tell her she wasn't alone. Shareen was almost praying for the sound of footsteps, the creaking of Jackie's bed, _anything_. But there was nothing. There was only her breathing, deafeningly loud, and the thump of the bass of an R'n'B track down the hall.

"She's not coming back." she whispered, running a hand down the blue front of the TARDIS gently. "So why is he here?"

"Because I need to be here."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I know, this is only a short chapter, but I'm trying to keep the suspense up throughout the story. Once again, **disclaimers** saying that I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or anything else, are going to decorate the page, and I want to say a huge thank you to **_horsefly_**, who gave me motivation to carry on with this story. I think that's about it for now.

* * *

Shareen jumped to her feet and steadied her drunken self against the TARDIS as she looked at the man in the doorway. It was the Doctor. He was the man that Rose had brought to last year's New Year's party, and he was the man whose arse Shareen had sneakily pinched as she passed. Except, last year, he looked a lot more happy and up-for-anything; now, he just looked tired and pale. 

"Doctor?"

It seemed like rather a superfluous question; Shareen knew it was him; but it seemed to be the only thing she could say at the moment. She furrowed her brow as the Doctor stepped closer, his shirt crumpled, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, and stumbled onto the threadbare sofa. Shareen was at his side in an instant, turning the side-lamp on and blinking to clear away the black spots in front of her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

"No. I'm not. I'm dying, Shareen." She didn't ask how the Doctor remembered her name, but instead reached for a cushion from the armchair and tucked it beneath his head, smoothing brown hair away from his clammy forehead. "Martha…she died. On Chelonia. I couldn't save her…or myself."

There were so many questions Shareen wanted to ask, but she stopped herself from saying anything just in time, clamping her mouth closed as she nodded understandingly and removed his blood-stained jacket. She hung it over the back of a chair, only glancing back twice to check out the familiar pinstripes, and watched as a small puddle of blood - rich, dark crimson blood - formed on the sofa. She fetched a cloth to mop it up and a first aid kit from the kitchen and settled down beside him on her knees, nibbling her lip concernedly.

"Isn't there anything you can do? I mean, I'm not too good at First Aid, but I doubt you'll want me to phone an ambulance or anything. You'll get shipped right off to Torchwood for investigation."

"Don't worry about me, Shareen. I'll be fine. 'Cause, you see, this isn't the end. I'm not really dying. Well, I _am_, but it'll be fine, 'cause I'm going to come out smelling of roses the other end."

Shareen furrowed her brow. Now, she wasn't the smartest person in the world, but she knew that if someone was bleeding as heavily as he was, they weren't going to survive. But at the same time, he was an alien, and aliens could do some awesome things. Nonetheless, she wasn't willing to risk having him die on her sofa so that everyone would think she'd murdered him. Shareen pulled the lid from the first aid box and rummaged in it for a bandage, ignoring the potent odour of antiseptic lotion and lemon-and-honey cough syrup that arose from the box. The Doctor coughed weakly, and Shareen rummaged more furiously, chucking boxes of plasters and paracetamol out onto the floor in front of her.

She'd just found the bandage when a bright golden light from the sofa made her hold her hand up to her face and blink. She wasn't sure whether to be worried or amazed when she saw the Doctor's limp body hovering slightly, and gently reached out to touch him. A small bolt of electricity leapt out of the golden cloud to meet her fingertips, and she pulled her hand back to her mouth as what she could only assume was the Doctor's body fell down against the cushions. He was still wearing the creased shirt and pinstriped trousers from before, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to work out what had happened.

This wasn't the Doctor as she'd seen him before.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you once again to my wonderful reviewers, though there aren't many of you! It's nice of you to give me feedback on my story to let me know if I'm going the right direction.  
Unfortunately, I start back at college tomorrow so I may be a little lax on reviews, but do not fear, you'll have one by the end of the month!  
This chapter's very Shareen-centric, I'm afraid, but hopefully you can bear it.

* * *

"What the Hell?"

Shareen dropped the bandage back into the box and stood up shakily, supporting herself against the coffee table as she found her feet. Maybe she'd drunk more than she intended to, or maybe this was a dream, or something. This couldn't be real, no way. She grabbed her jacket from the rack behind the door, slipped on her shoes and looked for her mobile phone and keys. At three o'clock on New Year's morning, 2007, Shareen Evans was lost for words. She'd never doubted her own eyes before, but that was certainly something that made her look twice. A lanky, pale, brown-haired Doctor, transformed into a taller Doctor with darker, curlier hair, right before her very eyes.

She unbolted the door and turned the handle, speeding out of the house as fast as her legs could carry her - and those were medal-winning legs. Where would she go? No idea. At three o'clock in the morning, she doubted anybody that she knew would be at home, or awake, and so she'd probably end up on some sort of pub-crawl until she thought it was safe to go back home. Perhaps the Doctor would get the hint and clear off in his TARDIS before she returned.

Right now, Rob's flat sounded good enough. Shareen had no doubts that he'd probably be happy to see her, though he'd make a crap shoulder-to-cry-on. If only Mickey or Rose were here, then she could talk to someone about what had just happened without making herself sound completely insane. However, they weren't, and it was a choice between waking up Steve - who would probably not be too happy or understanding, and would tell her, in no uncertain terms, to shove off back to her own flat and stop bothering him - or Rob, who would probably be up anyway, watching some adult channel on the television while the effects of his alcohol-ingestion wore off. There really wasn't much of a choice.

It had started snowing - proper snow, this year; not a broken-up spaceship in the atmosphere - and it was at least ten minutes to Rob's flat. Shareen picked up the pace a little and strode purposefully down the road, wrapping her jacket tighter around her small body. Snowflakes fluttered down onto Shareen's eyelashes, and her nose burnt from the cold, but she walked pointedly forward, past the catcalls from the beer garden of the _Old Albert_ pub, past the church and its graveyard, and through the play park. Quite obviously, it was deserted at this time of night, and the black tarmac beneath her feet was littered with white specks of snow, but one solitary swing on the set rocked back and forth in the wind, the seesaw trying its hardest to resist lifting and creaking with age-old bolts.

Shareen could remember when, as teenagers, she and Rose would sit on the swings and push themselves lazily into the air as they chatted about good times and bad; whenever there was something to talk about, this was always where they came. There was the roundabout, newly painted in bright colours, where they'd all sat and lorded over the play park after school, where Mickey and Steve and Rob had acted as bodyguards and scared off any little children that even dared to look at the roundabout.

She could remember having her first kiss at the top of that climbing frame, when she was seven, and one of the boys from Jericho Street Junior School had volunteered to rescue her after (quite stupidly) she'd got her new, shiny, pretty black shoes tangled in the rope of the A Frame because she was showing off to Rose.

She could remember tormenting Mickey and chanting that annoying song (_"Hey Mickey, you're so fine, You're so fine you blow my mind.."_) at him. And the dance routine she and Rose and Aleesha had made up to go with it, just to see Mickey's ears go red and watch him get all flustered. Of course, he'd soon wised up to their little game and done a bit of research on his new block-of-a-PC in order to get them back by manipulating the lyrics of corny '80s tracks to apply to them. Like Blondie's "Denis", which soon became "Shareen, Shareen, oh with your eyes so blue…"

And now, that's all they were. All those events, they were just memories. Hazy, foggy memories at the back of Shareen's mind, those odd little nostalgic longings one generally gets when one is drunk out of their skull.

Despite her better judgement, Shareen Evans started to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay then. Sorry this has taken so long. I know I promised y'all a chapter at the beginning of this month, but with college work and everything else, I just haven't had the time or energy to write anything.

If anyone has any ideas on what they'd like to happen to Shareen and the Doctor, please let me know as, though I know of a few adventures I'd like them to have, I definitely think I need some more input from my readers.

And, speaking of readers, thank you to all of those people who've reviewed. I love you all!

Now...on with the story...

* * *

Hours could have passed; days, even. Well…not quite. Shareen imagined she would've noticed if the sun had decided to come up. But the tears had fallen for quite a long time, and her knees had turned red from cold, and numb to boot. Vaguely, she remembered a couple of drunken middle-aged men passing the gates of the play area about half an hour ago, but until it was deathly quiet once more, Shareen didn't think to look up. The last flickers of colour from some fireworks display down by the Thames were just hovering in the sky before falling and fading slowly, and she wiped away tear trails, blackened by running mascara, from her cheeks. If there had been anyone around, she would've cared that she looked an absolute state, with her miniskirt and bare legs, and her tear-stained cheeks, but nobody was, so the care was gone. 

And she quite liked it that way. All her life, Shareen had been forced to look presentable by her father and grandfather, then to look sexy by her friends and boyfriends; sometimes it was just nice to let the real you shine out. Though, of course, in Shareen's view, she would've preferred it happen in the comfort of her own living room, and not when there was an 11-stone, 6-foot unconscious man lying on her sofa.

"Oh, _bugger!"_ Shareen cursed, jumping up from the swing with alarming ferocity and scrabbling over the woodchips and tarmac to reach the path. The Doctor - well, that's if he was the Doctor - was still in her house. And knowing Bev, she'd be round in the morning to check on Shareen and coo over her while making her a cup of tea to cure that dreadful hangover that always seemed to follow a party. But Shareen was lucky, really, because she didn't actually suffer from hangovers all that much - well, except for the first time she'd taken Rose out for a smash-up at the pub, anyway. Really, Shareen just liked to feel cared for and loved, and liked the feeling of someone looking after her and making her cups of tea on command. It took all those pent-up acting techniques from drama classes of days-gone-by, but a cup of tea and breakfast in bed was _so_ worth it.

Anyway, I digress.

Tearing up the road towards her apartment building, Shareen fingered the ring of keys in her jacket pocket and tried to pick out the pin-prick sharpness of her front door key. The last thing she needed right now was the police calling round to Number 14, only to check in on her own flat and find an unconscious man in the living room, a blue 1950s police box in front of the telly. That would take a lot of explaining.

Running in heels, she decided, was not the best idea she could've thought of. The balls of her feet were aching in protest and her toes, slowly defrosting from the cold, had started twinging in the tight leather. Pulling her jacket closer around her body, Shareen swept her hair out of her eyes one-handed and entered the apartment building by pushing on the door with the other. Almost-thankfully, she sighed as she reached the lift and the steady thump of the New Years Party down the hall could still be heard, even as the mechanisms started to heave the lift upwards. A high ping a few moments later dragged Shareen out of the half-tiredness-, half-alcohol-induced reverie she was in, and she exited onto the landing. Shoving the key haphazardly into the lock on her front door, Shareen twisted it and the doorknob just above the keyhole, and pushed inwards. The kitchen light was still on, and she could hear the whirr of the hot-water tank in the immersion cupboard.

Home sweet home.

Shrugging off her coat and shoes, Shareen poked her head around the door and caught a pair of deep brown eyes staring back at her.

"I wondered when you'd come back," A deep, Welsh accent came from the person's mouth, and she rolled her eyes and wandered in the general direction of the kitchen. It was at times like this that Shareen was glad she'd bought tea-bags the night before.

"Yeah, well, sorry, but I'm not used to people reincarnating in my living room." She picked two white china mugs out of the kitchen cupboard above the kettle and retrieved the tea, coffee and sugar pots from the shelf. "Do you drink tea, or is it strictly alien juice this time around?" As she dropped the teabag and two spoonfuls of sugar into her mug, Shareen heard a deep chuckle from the lounge, before hearing the serving-hatch open behind her.

"Tea will do just fine, thanks, Shareen."

"Good." _And, _she added mentally, _even if it wasn't, it'd be tough luck, mate._

_Oi. Watch it,_ a voice responded, and Shareen dropped the milk bottle (thankfully lidded) on the floor in shock. Spinning round on her heel, she glared in the Doctor's direction and picked the bottle up from the floor, ducking behind the small breakfast table in the middle of the room to do so.

"Get out of my head, and stay out. I don't want you reading my thoughts."

"Right-oh. Just testing the waters, you know?"

"If you aren't careful, _Doctor_, if that's really who you are, then I'll take that literally and we can go for a little swim in the bathtub, okay?" A little more forcefully than she perhaps intended, Shareen replaced the milk bottle in the door of the fridge and returned to the counter which held the kettle, refusing to turn and face the Doctor.

"Shareen, you _know_ it's me, and if you don't mind, I'd really rather not 'go for a swim', as you so eloquently put it." As she poured boiling water into the two cups, Shareen dared a glance back in the Doctor's direction and raised an eyebrow as he picked a piece of invisible lint from the sleeve of his shirt. _No,_ she reminded herself mentally. _Not his shirt. The other Doctor's._ Stirring the spoon noisily around the first mug of tea, Shareen nibbled on her lip and strained the teabag before turning to him again.

"Don't you think you ought to change? It's weird, seeing you in his clothes."

She heard a faint grunt and the shuffling footsteps retreat back into the lounge, and after straining the second teabag from the Doctor's tea, she walked back into the room after him, the two teas held tightly in her hands as she walked and tried to focus on not spilling them. Even though she worked at a restaurant, it had never been Shareen's forte. She suspected that the chefs were out to get her and kept hiding ball-bearings beneath the food to make it wobble dangerously close to the edge of the plates, but Lindsay had once told her to stop being stupid. Shareen put the two cups on the coffee table and, refolding the Doctor's jacket and coat over the back of one of the chairs, settled back onto the sofa. The remains of her first-aid box were littered over the floor and she could just spy a bottle of antiseptic lotion tucked behind the pot plant she kept on the mantle, but right now she was too lazy to bother picking them up.

"What do you think?"

Shareen glanced up and reached towards the coffee table for her cup of tea as the Doctor emerged from the TARDIS, cleanly-shaven and wearing a green jumper beneath a leather jacket, and a pair of jeans. Though she had to admit he didn't look half bad, it just didn't look _right_. Shaking her head, she took a sip of the hot, sweet liquid and swallowed, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Get rid of the leather jacket. It doesn't suit. Though leather _trousers_; that'd look interesting."

A couple of minutes later, after Shareen had finished flicking through a magazine she'd found tucked beneath her cushion, the Doctor re-emerged wearing the suggested leather trousers and a deep purple shirt, unbuttoned just a little at the collar. Now she could see him in that outfit (and where he'd got it from, she didn't want to know), it didn't look as good as she thought. She wrinkled her nose disgustedly and returned to braiding her hair while the Doctor went in search of a new outfit.

"You know, this'd be a lot easier if you came in the TARDIS. I wouldn't have to keep walking so far, then."

Gazing up at the Doctor as though he was mad, Shareen cuddled a cushion to her stomach in that defensive manner that just screams, 'No way.' Undeterred by her protests, the Doctor grabbed her hand and dragged her from the sofa, grinning at her in a reassuring way and saying, "Come on, it's like nothing you've ever seen before."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she muttered as she stepped through the doors. Blinking, Shareen stumbled backwards a little and the Doctor tightened his grip on her wrist. "_Shit,"_ she swore, drinking in the interior of the TARDIS console with her eyes.

"_Shit._"


End file.
